


So married.

by AaliyahManira



Series: Solsken & Ryss [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff, M/M, National Hockey League, Old Married Couple, So Married, Washington Capitals, Washington D.C., mean lars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-03-27 22:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13890123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AaliyahManira/pseuds/AaliyahManira
Summary: Nicky and Sasha are so married.





	1. So Married, p. I

_So married._ It’s what the text message on Nicke’s screen said when he looked down. He’d gotten his jersey stuck on his pads—again—and Sasha had helped him get unstuck—again—and it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. He glared across the room and went back to getting ready for the game.

 

* * *

 

“You two are so married,” Nicke hears when he reaches over to help Alex with his sock tape, his blunt nails cut too short to let him get ahold of it. Nicke’s content to ignore it, like always, but Sasha throws an arm around his shoulders and pulls him sideways until he’s leaning against him.

“You’re just jealous that I have pretty husband and you sleep alone,” he declares at the top of his voice, making a show of kissing Nicke’s head. There’s a chorus of chirps and laughter, and no one notices the way Nicke’s cheeks burn. Sasha pelts someone in the side of the head with the ball of sock tape and goes about the rest of his routine like normal, so Nicke tries to do the same.

 

* * *

 

“Nicke, how you get whip cream on your nose?” Nicke’s not drunk, but he’s close. He doesn’t think he’s had anything with whip cream on it, though, so he crosses his eyes and tries to look at his nose, like somehow seeing it is going to help. Sasha laughs and swipes the dollop of cream away with the pad of his thumb, too steady to have consumed as many shots as Nicke knows he has.

“Seriously, so married,” comes the chirp, from somewhere outside Nicke’s line of sight. He’s too drunk to decide who it is and when he tries to turn around and look, Sasha’s strong arm holds him still. He doesn't remember when Sasha put his arm around his waist, but he suddenly feels like it might be the only thing holding him upright.

“Nicke,” Sasha says softly, holding out his thumb so Nicke can lick the whipped cream away. If someone sees Sasha’s eyes darken when Nicke’s mouth closes around the tip of his finger, or anyone realizes they mysteriously disappear into the same cab without saying goodbye, no one says anything. Nicky thinks one of the perks to the team thinking you're 'so married' might be that no one is surprised by closeness.

 

* * *

 

“You need to go talk to Ovi, he’s making everyone sad,” Nicke keeps his eyes closed for a few extra seconds, hoping that TJ will think he’s asleep and go away. He doesn’t. Nicke inhales and exhales dramatically and opens his eyes.

“Why me?” He asks, already hearing the answer in his ears before he finishes the words. TJ sits back in his seat and shrugs, stretching his long legs out under the seat in front of him. for a second, he doesn't say anything. Then, he turns his head and shrugs one shoulder.

“Because you guys are married, it’s your job,” TJ yawns and Nicke stretches, reaching up toward the roof of the plane until the stiffness in his back is almost gone, “besides, they’ve already tried. He’s only going to talk to you,” Nicke’s eyes immediately jump to where Sasha’s sitting with his whole body turned away from his teammates. He’s staring out the window with his headphones on. Nicke gets up and goes to sit beside him, reaching out to curl his fingers around Sasha's wrist. Sasha turns his hand over and catches Nicke's fingers without looking away from the window.

 

* * *

 

“G-d, we’re so married,” Nicke grumbles under his breath, pushing Sasha out of the way so he can finish getting ready. He gets nowhere because Sasha jumps up onto the counter and wraps his legs around his waist. With Sasha’s thighs pinning him in, Nicke gives up trying to move and leans forward to rest his head against the bare skin of Sasha’s shoulder. Nicke in his suit and Sasha in his boxers is the perfect depiction of why they've been late the last dozen times they've had to be anywhere, Nicke thinks.

“Yes Kolya, married long time. You deserve award for put up with me,” Sasha’s laughing and even annoyed Nicke can’t keep the fond smile from his face. He reaches down and takes the ring off of his finger, handing it over to Sasha so he can add it to the chain around his neck. He'll get one of his own eventually, but for now he likes the way their rings look together on Sasha's.

“If I agree and let you do whatever ridiculous thing you’re thinking, can you get dressed so we aren’t late again?” Sasha clasps the chain back around his neck, their rings warm against his sternum, and smiles, pulling Nicky in for a kiss.

“Of course, am best husband.”

 

* * *

 

“You can wait, I need to go check on him,” Nicke shrugs out from under the hand on his shoulder and puts his stick, gloves, and helmet into the waiting hands of the equipment staff. He can still hear the fans making noise in the stands, can tell that the win has everyone excited, but he can't be excited with them yet. Someone else tries to touch him and he shrugs them off too, dropping his shoulder out from under the touch before it even comes.

“Nicky, he’s probably fine, just—” Nicke stops and turns around all in one smooth motion, inhaling until his lungs can’t hold any more oxygen.

“There is nothing any of you need from me right now that’s important enough to stop me from going down that hallway, so save your breath,” he turns and drags a hand through the damp length of his curls. He barely makes it two steps before he hears it.

“So married,” and something in him snaps. He stops, yanks the chain out from under his pads, and very deliberately puts his ring back on.

“Yes, and that’s exactly why I have to go,” he says. The room is silent long after he’s not there to give them murder eyes anymore.


	2. So Married, p. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicke and Sasha are SO. MARRIED.  
> And it's their ten year anniversary.

The phone rings in the middle of the night and Anna’s only surprised until she looks at the screen and sees Nicke’s face. What people don’t realise about Nicke, is that for someone who sleeps so much, he’s never asleep when everyone else is. She rubs at her face with both hands before she answers.

“What’s the matter, käraste?” She reaches for her glasses and fumbles to put them on so the numbers on her clock are more than red blurs. When she can make out the 2:34, she rolls her eyes and kicks off her covers.

“You were sleeping,” Nicke says quietly, having the decency to sound sorry, “do you have to work in the morning?” Anna shakes her head and pulls her bedroom curtains open so she can look out at the rain falling against the surface of the pool. It takes a second for her to realise he can’t see her and say no out loud.

“No, I don’t. Even if I did, I’d answer when you called, you know that. What’s the matter?” She leans against the wall and listens to the sound of Nicke’s exhale. He sounds anxious.

“Can I come in? I brought you tea,” he offers it like an olive branch, an endlessly endearing, very-Nicke apology for waking her up in the middle of the night and already being at her house like he knew she was going to let him in. She sighs and rolls her eyes again, almost wishing she weren’t so predictable.

“You have a key. I’ll make you something to eat while you tell me what’s bothering you, da?” Nicke smiles and she can hear it in the way he says ‘I’ll see you in a minute’. She thinks about putting on pants, but decides against it and pulls on an oversized sweated instead. Nicke lets himself in as she pads down the stairs and smiles sheepishly when he sees her. He holds up a travel mug and fiddles with his keys until she takes it and touches the side of his face with the tips of her fingers.

“If I was going to scream at you about waking me up, I would have done it already. Come,” she tugs him toward the kitchen by his hand and pushes him toward a barstool while she sips at her tea and opens the fridge.

“Sasha’s asleep. I didn’t want my pacing to wake him up, because he’d ask what was wrong,” she hums and deposits her mug on the counter so she can use both hands to dig through the freezer.

“Are you going to make me ask?” Nicke looks down at his hands and shakes his head. She pops a Tupperware container into the microwave and leans against the counter opposite him, hands folded against the cool surface. She doesn’t push, just listens to the sound of the clock ticking behind her and waits for him to decide he’s ready.

“Sasha and I have been married for ten years this year,” he sounds like he’s going to say more but doesn’t. She laughs and nods.

“I know that, käraste, I was there when you got married. What’s the problem?” Nicke groans and drags a hand through his curls, pulling at the tears with his fingers.

“What do you get your husband of ten years when he makes enough money to buy everything he wants when he wants it?” Anna laughs in spite of herself and he glares, whining, “It’s not funny!”

“Nicke,” she says softly, reaching over to take his hands, “You’re thinking too hard.” The microwave chimes and she turns to grab the container, pushing it across the counter with a fork and going to the fridge to grab a Gatorade.

“What should I give him?” Anna jumps up onto the counter and crosses her legs, pulling her sweater down over her knees.

“I have an idea, but it’s going to make you really nervous,” she says softly, reaching for her mug and wrapping both hands around it. Nicke pops another bite into his mouth and raises an eyebrow.

“Try me,” he says with his mouth still full. She smiles and takes a drink.

 

 _You’re making me nervous, käraste._ The text message is plain on Nicke’s screen and he makes a face, pausing his warm-up long enough to type out a quick response.

 _You’re not even in the same room as me._ Anna laughs when she reads it, snapping a picture of the ice from her seat and sending it to him.

 _You’re right, which is why I shouldn’t be able to tell how nervous you are._ He laughs at himself and grabs his phone, slipping out into the hallway to call her.

“Breathe, Nicklas, he’s going to love it,” he laughs nervously and drags a hand through his hair again, making it stick up on top of his head.

“I hope so. What do you think they’re going to do? The fans, I mean,” Anna laughs and drops back into her seat, kicking her feet up onto the empty chair in front of her and tugging the sleeves of her jersey down over her hands.

“It doesn’t matter what they do. Walk back into that locker room, look at your husband, and know that you’re doing it for him, not them. And, skate onto the ice knowing that there are a dozen people wearing the exact same jersey as you and proud of it,” Nicky leans against the wall and breathes in through his nose until his lungs can’t take anymore. He blows the air out of his lungs and laughs again, this time less hysterically.

“Of course you are,” he says fondly, pulling the phone away from his ear to glance at the time, “I have to go. Thank you,” she smiles and looks at her own watch.

“Enjoy your last forty minutes in that jersey, Nicke. And happy anniversary,” the line goes dead and Nicke drops his head back against the wall, forcing himself to breathe for a few extra seconds before he’s steady enough to go back into the locker room and pull his jersey over his pads.

 

“Brock!” Nicke shouts, raising his voice just enough that it can be heard over the sounds of the boys lining up and getting ready to take the ice. Brock looks up, sees him, and immediately turns to dig a rolled-up jersey out of his trunk. He holds it out to Nicke like a gift and smiles, nervous and proud.

“No one’s seen it except me,” he assures as Nicke discards the jersey he’s wearing and unrolls the new one. He looks at it for a second with a smile on his face and then pulls it over his head. He tugs at it until it lays flat and takes a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder to where Sasha and TJ are screaming in each other’s faces.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, clapping Brock on the shoulder with his ungloved hand. From his place in the line, Andre’s eyes go wide and a smile swallows up his whole face. Nicke raises a finger to his lips and smiles when he nods, looking to Sasha with an excited grin. Burkie can't keep a secret for his life, so Nicke's grateful that it only has to last a few more minutes.

Nicke takes his place in line and manages to keep everyone who notices his jersey quiet enough that Sasha doesn’t suspect a thing. Nicke’s barely remembering to breathe. They take the ice and Nicke takes his place for the announcement of the starting lineup and singing of the anthem without falling over, which he thinks is impressive. With the lights down low, the name on his jersey is concealed enough that only a few of the most observant fans seem to have noticed.

“At center…” the announcer starts, hesitating for just long enough that Nicke’s heart skips a beat in his chest. Before he can hyperventilate, the announcer gets control of himself and starts over.

“At center, #19, Nicklas Ovechkin…” and the words are barely out of his mouth before Sasha’s head whips around. It happens so fast Nicke’s sure that his neck is going to hurt tomorrow and he feels like the ice under him is melting. Sasha looks thrilled and shocked and like he might kiss Nicke right there on the ice if it weren’t for the arena full of people. Nicke kind of wishes he would.

 


	3. Happy Anniversary, love Kolya.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the announcers say Nicke's name, Sasha nearly dies.

Pre-game is predictable. Sasha gets up at the same time, gets dressed at the same time, eats the same meal, naps at the same time, and settles in to preparing his equipment at the same time every game. He and Nicke are alike in that way and they always sleep together before they play. It’s like, law, at this point. But the night they play against Anaheim is the first time Nicke doesn’t sleep when they lay down for their naps. When Sasha falls asleep, Nicke is staring at the ceiling of their bedroom, and when he wakes up, Nicke hasn’t moved. Sasha doesn’t ask, because they have a game to play and it can wait, but he wonders. Nicke is the sleepiest person ever, Nicke never misses naptime.

 

The announcer forgets Nicke’s name, which is crazy because they’re at home and Nicke’s been Nicke for almost as long as Sasha’s been Alex. Sasha’s pissed, and he’s halfway through opening his mouth to tell TJ all the reasons he’s offended when the announcer gets his shit together and clears his throat.

“At center, #19, Nicklas Ovechkin…” Sasha whips his head toward Nicke so fast he’s sure he’ll be sore in the morning and Nicke turns just enough that he can see the ‘O’ on the back of his shoulder. When he turns back, he looks unsteady, like he’s afraid Sasha might be mad at him or the fans might boo or any number of other terrible things. Nicke should never look like that and it barely takes Sasha until half way through ‘Oshie’ to get his skates to move so he’s standing in front of Nicke.

“Kolya,” Sasha says, voice low under the roar of the crowd but loud enough that Nicke can hear it. Nicke’s face is pink when he meets Sasha’s eyes, but Sasha’s hand doesn’t shake at all when he drops his glove and reaches out to touch his cheek.

“Happy Anniversary,” Nicke says with a shy smile and a glance around the arena. Sasha pulls him in for a kiss and doesn’t stop kissing him until Braden’s done scoring the ice in the blue paint. When the kiss is over, Sasha rests his forehead against Nicke’s and closes his eyes.

“Happy Anniversary, Mr. Ovechkin,” Sasha says before he skates back to his spot in the lineup and gets ready to play.

The first period is longer than any one period in any of the games Sasha’s played in his life. Nicke skates hard because Nicke always skates hard and he throws his big ass into everyone that gets in his way. Sasha’s mostly convinced that the universe is out to get him and the period is actually endless when the horn sounds. When Sasha finally gets off the ice, he waits for Nicke in the tunnel and kisses him in full view of every camera from the bench to the locker room.

 

“So was just name on jersey?” Sasha asks, wet from showering and gesturing to the jersey still laying in Nicke’s stall. Nicke shakes his head and stands up to flash the back of his sweatshirt, ‘OVECHKIN’ emblazoned in crisp letters between his shoulders.

“The NHL requires that _legal_ last names be printed or sewn onto the back of every player jersey,” Brock says, swiping the sweaty jersey from Nicke’s stall and tossing it into the bin with the others to be washed and packed for their game in Vegas. Sasha makes a confused face and scrubs his towel through his wet hair. Brock grabs one of Nicke’s sticks and one of his gloves to show the name and number. “I spent the first half of the first switching the stickers on every stick and replacing the gloves, sweatshirts, and…” he makes a nebulous gesture with his hand and floats away to finish gathering uniform pieces.

“So, not just name on sweater?” he asks, sounding a little dense. Nicke laughs and fishes a legal-sized manila envelope out of his bag. He holds it up for Sasha to take and shoves his stuff into his bag.

“Legally, in this country and in Sweden, my name is Lars Nicklas Ovechkin,” Nicke says by way of explanation, turning pink at the tips of his ears, “the paperwork came through yesterday.”

“I wanted it to be your anniversary present, but the paperwork went through faster than I thought so it was a little early,” Sasha looms over Nicke and leans in to drip water on his face.

“Was perfect, Kolya, thank you,” Sasha tells him, wiping the droplets of water away with the pad of his thumb and leaning in to press a soft kiss to Nicke’s mouth. When the call for a fine comes, Nicke holds up a hundred and pulls Sasha in for another, longer kiss.

“If I’m going to pay it, I’m getting my money’s worth.”

 

“Should keep old jersey, one that says Bäckström,” Sasha says, stretching under Nicke’s weight and smiling when he makes a grumpy sound.

“Stop moving. Why do you want to keep it?” Sasha laughs and cards his fingers through Nicke’s hair.

“Gonna be worth lots of money, put it in a frame and keep forever,” Nicke giggles and shakes his head against Sasha’s chest.

“If I keep it, are you going to make me sign it for you too?” Sasha makes a face and shifts to pull Nicke all the way onto his chest.

“Make you? No. I’m ask real nice though. Maybe ask you to sign new one too, have matching set,” Nicke smiles and drops his forehead against Sasha’s sternum.

“I do my first round of autographed jerseys and pictures tomorrow with my new signature,” Nicke says against Sasha’s chest, words muffled by his sweatshirt.

“I’m not even see it yet,” Sasha teases. Nicke rolls his eyes and reaches into the coffee table for a sharpie. He raises up and presses his elbow into Sasha’s ribs, just to be ornery. Sasha grunts and Nicke rolls his eyes as he opens the sharpie and signs right next to the number ‘8’ on the chest of Sasha’s sweatshirt.

“Now you’ve seen it, you big baby,” Nicke says, sticking his tongue out and settling back down to use Sasha as a pillow.

“How I’m see? Is on my chest, I’m read upside down!” Sasha shouts, indignant. Nicke shrugs and closes his eyes.

“Guess you’ll just have to take your shirt off,” he says plainly. Sasha stops shouting long enough to look down and raise an eyebrow at him.

“If you wanted me out of my shirt, Kolya, all you have to do is ask.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do hear what you all drop in my messages and in the comments, I swear. It would have been so easy to make this sexy and smutty, but so far it's been pure fluff and I wasn't ready to compromise that yet. It may still happen, who knows.


End file.
